Chapter 6: The Wedding Night
Chapter 6: The Wedding Night
Qing Xiang's career was finally taking flight.
He had spent the last few months relentlessly helping lawyers bring down the Lao Xue Corporation, and tirelessly working on a guide robot for the blind. In the chaos, he hadn't noticed how Gan Qi had quietly remained by his side—running errands, cooking, cleaning, sleeping on the couch for three whole months without a word of complaint.
From the moment she called the police in her pajamas to the day she stood beside him during a media interview, people had naturally assumed they were a couple. Even his mother, all the way back home, called constantly after seeing the news, nagging that he was already thirty and should hurry up and bring his daughter-in-law home.
Truth be told, Qing Xiang's heart had been dead since his ex-girlfriend left. Whether he got married—or who he married—made no difference to him anymore.
That day, he stepped into the living room and saw Gan Qi still wearing the same pajamas. She had never once asked about his ex. Never crossed a line. And yet, little by little, the once chaotic apartment had turned neat and warm. Meals arrived on time. His clothes were ironed to perfection, with the faint scent of sunlight. Gan Qi never made a sound, but her presence filled the silence like a comforting hum.
He walked up to her as she was arranging bedding on the sofa. He reached out and took her hand.
"Will you marry me?"
Gan Qi's round eyes widened with disbelief. She stared at him, unsure if he was serious. He repeated the question in a flat tone.
When she realized he meant it, tears welled up in her eyes and she nodded.
She knew he didn't love her. But he needed a home. And she—needed to belong.
The wedding was held first in Qing Xiang's hometown, Jilin.
Gan Qi was quietly relieved—this gave her a chance to meet his family. Their structure was simple: a mother, a father, and a few cousins. As the only child, Qing Xiang had always been the center of his parents' world. And now, so was the bride he brought home.
Everyone liked Gan Qi. They marveled at how Qing Xiang had found someone so young, so beautiful, and yet so mature. Gan Qi felt something she hadn't felt in a long time—belonging. Acceptance. A new family. And for her, that was enough.
She didn't tell her aunt about the marriage registration.
Compared to Qing Xiang's warm and loving home, her own felt far too cold, too poor, too complicated. It was a place she wasn't eager to return to. But Qing Xiang insisted. He believed the luck in his career had come from her. If he could give her a name, he would. If traditions had to be followed, he wouldn't skip a single one.
After two days in Jilin, they traveled south to Gan Qi's hometown—Wuhu, Anhui. A quiet village that rarely saw guests, let alone luxury cars and suits.
The moment they arrived, the entire village poured out to watch the spectacle.
Qing Xiang booked the grandest hotel in the area, to the jaw-dropped astonishment of Gan Qi's aunt. He hosted a feast for the whole village, paid the bride price her aunt demanded without blinking, and even agreed to cover her family's monthly expenses and fund her siblings' education abroad.
Villagers took turns congratulating the aunt for raising such a "lucky" daughter. Her aunt, of course, basked in the praise, spinning endless tales about the hardships of raising Gan Qi—how she had sacrificed so much, how she'd suffered in silence.
No one asked how Gan Qi met Qing Xiang. No one seemed to care. All they knew was that in just three months, a girl from their village had become a phoenix.
To them, she was a miracle.
The three-day celebration left Qing Xiang drained. He collapsed on the hotel bed, half-conscious from the endless toasts forced on him by the overly enthusiastic villagers. Gan Qi, meanwhile, felt deeply uncomfortable. Her painful past had been laid bare for all to see, courtesy of her aunt's loud and unfiltered storytelling. It was like being stripped in public—raw, exposed, and powerless.
But Qing Xiang didn't seem to mind.
He kept smiling. Kept treating guests with courtesy. And in front of everyone, he gave Gan Qi face. Respect. She was grateful. She had nothing—not wealth, not status—but what she could give, she would give. She would take care of him, support him, be the perfect wife.
Maybe, she thought, that was the only reason he married her.
That night, she soaked a towel in warm water, wrung it out carefully, and walked over to the bed. She loosened Qing Xiang's tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt. His brow was still furrowed in a deep frown.
She gently pressed the warm towel to his forehead, hoping to soothe him.
Then, he murmured something.
Turning his head slightly, in a voice slurred by sleep and liquor, he whispered:
"Zi Shuo… Zi Shuo…"
Gan Qi froze.
Zi Shuo,that was the first time she had heard the name. So that was her name—the woman he couldn't forget.
Gan Qi withdrew the hand holding the towel from his face, pausing midair.
Qing Xiang stirred, his eyelids fluttering open just enough to catch a glimpse of her. His gaze was hazy, distant—caught somewhere between dream and reality. Without a word, he reached for her hand and drew her toward him, as if by instinct.
His palms cupped her face, rough yet trembling, and before she could react, his lips found hers in a sudden, urgent kiss. It was fierce—not out of passion, but from something deeper, buried and raw. He kissed her like a man trying to hold on to something slipping away.
He didn't let her breathe, didn't give her time to question. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, trailing slowly, lingering at her temple, brushing her earlobe, then lowering to the hollow of her collarbone. Every touch was both a search and a surrender.
With a single motion, he pulled at the bodice of her wedding dress. The fabric yielded easily, revealing the soft curves hidden beneath. He paused for a breathless second, eyes darkening, before pressing his face gently against her chest, not so much in desire but in need—like a lost man seeking warmth.
His hands, once motionless, began to move again—hesitant at first, then bolder. Fingers slid down, tracing the curve of her waist, exploring the fragile border between restraint and want.
Gan Qi's breath caught. Part of her wanted to resist—say no, step away, protect herself. But his touch wasn't forceful. It was trembling. Searching. It asked for permission without words. And somehow, she found herself answering not with words, but silence.
Her body tensed… then softened.
As his hands grew more familiar, she stopped trying to pull away. Her world blurred at the edges, her thoughts scattered like petals in the wind. And slowly, quietly, she let herself fall—not out of certainty, not out of love, but into the warmth of someone who, for a single moment, seemed to need her as much as she had always needed to be needed.
Her fingers moved on their own, brushing lightly against Qing Xiang's face, tracing the line of his jaw before gliding down to his throat. His Adam's apple, firm and pronounced, shifted beneath her touch—rising and falling in rhythm with their uneven breaths.
Slowly, almost ceremoniously, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt—one after another—until the third, then the fourth.
Before she could go further, Qing Xiang reached up and stopped her hand. Without a word, he shrugged off the shirt himself. The fabric slipped away, revealing not the frail figure she had once imagined, but a body quietly shaped by discipline and endurance. Under the soft light, the defined lines of his chest and abdomen shimmered with a quiet strength.
Gan Qi's breath hitched. Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch him, her fingertips tracing the warm contours of his skin, as if memorizing something she knew might not last.
But Qing Xiang pulled her closer again, his hands gently lifting her arms above her head. With slow, deliberate movements, he peeled away the layers of her wedding dress—fabric slipping like water, falling away piece by piece until there was nothing left between them.
She lay beneath him, bare and breathless, her heart racing like a bird trapped in a cage. He paused, just for a second, as if committing her image to memory. Then he moved—anchoring her beneath him, crossing the space that remained.
There was pain at first—a sharp, jarring moment that made her gasp—but it faded quickly, replaced by something deeper, something wordless. A quiet ache, a merging of two fragile bodies trying to fill their empty spaces.
On their wedding night, a 19-year-old girl, new to the stirrings of love, gave herself wholly to a man who had long since given up on it.
Even if it lasted only a moment,
Even if the passion in his eyes belonged to someone else—She still wanted to be part of it.
Even if… it was Zi Shuo's passion.